Daniel Garrett: They Took Her From Me

Chapter 10: Daniel

My hands slid beneath the soft pink silk of her dress, my palms pressing against the warm, supple flesh of her thighs. The smoothness of her skin, the heat radiating from her body, sent a shudder of anticipation through me. My eyes locked onto the delicate strip of white lace nestled between her legs, a teasing contrast against her golden skin.

Every part of me wanted to take my time, to savor this moment, to strip her slowly and properly, letting my eyes and hands memorize every inch of her body. I wanted to explore, to learn every reaction, every shiver, every moan—to discover what made her tremble and what made her come undone.

But we were in a bathroom at Lydia Conner’s wedding.

And all I had was minutes.

My fingers curled around the thin lace, feeling the delicate fabric against my fingertips. A slow grin spread across my lips as I flicked my wrist, making the material snap with a sharp pop.

Kathleen sucked in a sharp breath, her blue eyes snapping down to meet mine, flashing with something between shock and malice.

“Daniel!” she hissed, scolding me in that sharp, breathy tone that sent a jolt of pleasure straight to my c**k.

Fuck. If she said my name like that again, I was going to lose my damn mind.

“Don’t worry, queen,” I murmured, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her thigh, feeling her shiver beneath my lips. “I’ll buy you new ones.”

A quiet, humorless snort escaped her lips, but she didn’t fight me. Instead, she parted her legs further, granting me a view so perfect it felt like I was being blessed by the gods themselves.

I shoved the torn lace into my pocket, making sure to keep it—a trophy.

My gaze dragged back to her, to the glistening pink heat between her thighs. I wasn’t lying when I told her I had counted the days.

Three hundred and ninety-eight days. And during those three hundred and ninety-eight days, I had pumped my c**k to the thought of this moment four hundred and seventy-three times.

This wasn’t just lust. This wasn’t just desire.

I needed her.

She had become something essential to me—like breath, like air. And now, finally, after so long, I was breathing again.

My hands slid up her thighs, gripping them firmly, feeling the soft flesh mold against my palms. When I glanced up, she had leaned her head back against the mirror, her lips slightly parted, her eyes shut as she soaked in the feeling of my hands on her.

She was the most beautiful f*****g thing I had ever seen.

I leaned in, inhaling deeply, savoring the intoxicating scent of her arousal before I finally tasted her.

The first stroke of my tongue had her gasping, her body jerking ever so slightly. I flicked my tongue, circling her clit, slow and deliberate, teasing her the way I remembered she liked.

“Yes,” she breathed, her fingers finding the back of my head.

She didn’t push me down, didn’t try to control me—she just held on.

Like she needed to anchor herself to me.

That single gesture sent a f*****g earthquake through my chest.

I flicked my tongue again, reveling in the way she tasted, the way her body reacted, the way her breath hitched in that quiet, desperate way.

She hummed her pleasure, the sound low and soft, but it still sent goosebumps rippling across my skin beneath my suit.

“f**k, I’ve missed this,” I murmured against her, my voice rough and filled with every bit of raw desperation I felt.

“Me too,” she whimpered, her back arching as she pressed herself closer. “God, me too.”

I groaned into her, letting my tongue work her the way I had in the backseat of my car that night—slow, deep, precise. My fingers slid up, lining up at her entrance, aching to feel the tight, wet heat that I had been dreaming about for so damn long. I needed to know if she was just as tight as I remembered. Needed to know if she would squeeze my fingers the way I ached to feel her squeeze my c**k.

“Yes, Daniel,” she moaned, her voice a plea, raw and dripping with need.

My restraint snapped.

I slid one finger inside her, groaning at how f*****g wet she already was, how her body clamped around me like she never wanted to let go.

She whimpered, her fingers tightening in my hair, her nails raking against my scalp in a way that had my c**k straining painfully against my pants.

“More,” she begged.

I pushed another finger inside, curling them as I worked her, my tongue still flicking over her clit, slow and deep. I remembered how she liked it. She didn’t want fast. She wanted deep. She wanted intentional. She wanted to feel every f*****g stroke, every precise movement.

I remembered that if I curled my fingers just right, her breath would catch—

That if I flattened my tongue against her clit, pressing against it in just the right rhythm—

She would shatter.

And just like that, I had her.

“Yes, yes, God, yes,” she moaned, her voice urgent, desperate, wrecked.

Her body trembled beneath my touch, her thighs tightening around my head, her breath coming in sharp gasps.

“Don’t stop,” she begged, her voice breaking. “Daniel, f**k, don’t stop!”

I groaned against her, my fingers pressing deeper, my tongue flicking faster, pushing her right to the f*****g edge.

I felt it.

Felt the way her thighs tensed, the way her stomach tightened, the way her breath caught in her throat.

And then—

“God, yes!”

Her body convulsed as she shattered, as pleasure tore through her, her back arching, her head tilting back, her lips parting in a silent scream.

Her p***y clenched around my fingers, gripping them in tight, pulsing waves as she came undone, soaking me, drenching my hand.

I didn’t stop. Didn’t let her come down too fast.

I kept my tongue moving in slow, lazy circles, drawing out every last shiver, every last tremor. Her body twitched, her breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps as aftershocks wracked her form. She shuddered.

And f**k—she had never looked more beautiful.

I could sense the exact moment it became too much for her. The way her breathing hitched, the way her thighs trembled, the subtle shift of her hands, preparing to push me away. But before she could, I leaned back, my fingers still buried deep inside her.

I watched, fascinated, as I slowly pulled them out, slick and glistening with her arousal. Just to tease myself—just to torture—I pushed them back in, reveling in the sight of her body taking me so perfectly. My c**k throbbed at the visual, my entire being consumed by the desperate need to replace my fingers with something much, much thicker.

“Please tell me,” she whimpered, her voice breathy, barely able to catch air, “that you brought a condom.”

A smirk curled at the corner of my lips. “You really think I’d be unprepared if I had even the slightest chance of running into you?” I murmured, dragging my gaze up to meet hers.

Her blue eyes—once sharp, once calculating—were now dark, hazy with lust.

She licked her lips. “Then f**k me, Daniel,” she commanded, her voice low, rough—dangerous.

Like if I didn’t, she’d rip my c**k off and feed it to me.

Goddamn.

“Gladly.”

With one final thrust, I let my fingers slide out of her, my chest heaving as I lifted them to my mouth. My tongue darted out, tasting her, consuming her, moaning softly as I sucked every last drop of her from my skin.

“I swear, my queen,” I rasped, my eyes shutting briefly, lost in the taste of her, “I’ve never had a p***y as delicious as yours.”

“Enough sweet talk,” she snapped, her voice still breathy, still shaken, but her fire was back.

On unsteady legs, she slipped down from the counter, her feet hitting the tile with a soft tap.

“I need you to f**k me.”

I pushed up to my full height, the strain of my c**k against my zipper now bordering on painful.

“How do you want it?” I asked, my voice hoarse, desperate.

“Hard and rough,” she answered without a second’s hesitation, as if the answer had always been obvious.

Then, just like that, she turned around. With no shame, no hesitation, she grabbed the hem of her dress, lifting it, baring herself to me as she bent over the counter.

“And I wanna watch you do it.”

A groan tore from my throat at the sight.

Her round ass was high in the air, her back arched, her toned thighs spread just enough to give me a perfect view of her dripping wet p***y.

And those eyes—those wicked, knowing, hungry eyes—locked onto mine through the mirror.

I was gone.

Reaching for my belt, I slowly slid my gaze down, devouring her with my eyes. Her waist was impossibly small, her hips flaring out perfectly—her body the kind men fantasized about. A f*****g goddess.

I unbuckled my belt, unzipped my pants, and pulled my c**k free, groaning as I gripped it, giving myself a slow pump while taking in the absolute filth of the moment.

Every part of me screamed to skip the condom.

To fill her, breed her, mark her.

To push inside, as deep as I could go, and make her mine.

But even in my haze, I forced myself to do the right thing.

Pulling my wallet from my pocket, I fished out the condom I’d been carrying—because even though I had no reason to think I’d see her, some part of me had hoped.

Hoped for this.

Ripping the packet open with my teeth, I rolled it on, my eyes never leaving hers in the mirror.

She watched me.

And f**k, I swore she got wetter just seeing it.

Lining myself up at her entrance, I felt my whole body tremble with restraint.

Those eyes—those electric, icy blue eyes—stayed locked onto mine as I pushed in.

And f**k—

I watched as she tried to hold my gaze.

Tried to keep her control.

Tried to win.

But the second I bottomed out, the second my c**k was buried inside her completely—

Her head dropped forward, her lashes fluttered, and her lips parted on a silent scream. Her p***y clenched around me, squeezing so tight I thought I’d lose it right there.

“f**k,” I groaned, my head falling back, my body pulsing from the goddamn perfection of how she felt wrapped around me.

Her walls fluttered, gripping me, adjusting to my size, and I swore her body was trying to memorize me. She needed me just as badly as I needed her.

“Move,” she rasped, her voice raw, demanding.

I let out a sharp exhale, gripping her hips tighter, my fingers sinking into her flesh.

“As you wish.”

I pulled out slightly—just enough to tease—before slamming back inside, groaning as her p***y clenched around me. I built a rhythm—deep, strong, relentless. And through the mirror, she watched.

She watched me f**k her.

And I knew—if I met her eyes, if I acknowledged how f*****g dirty this was—

I’d come immediately.

Her moans were quiet but desperate, breaking with every thrust, her body rocking against the counter.

My jaw clenched, the pleasure almost too much, my control hanging by a thread.

“Daniel,” she whimpered, her voice soft, needy—f*****g perfect. “Harder.”

A low growl rumbled in my chest, and I tightened my grip on her hips, slamming into her with full, unrestrained force. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small space. Her moans turned into cries, her fingers scrambling against the counter for something to hold on to.

And f**k—people could hear us. Outside this door, the wedding was still happening. People were talking, laughing, celebrating.

And here we were—f*****g like animals in a public bathroom. The thought made my c**k twitch. Made my thrusts rougher, harder.

And then—

Knock, knock, knock.

“Kat?”

Lydia’s voice.

Instant f*****g panic.

Kathleen froze.

Our eyes met in the mirror, both wide, both locked in silent horror.

Her lips parted, her breath caught, her cheeks flushed—

And f**k—

I had never been harder in my goddamn life.